


Floral & Fading

by boyonthebluemoon



Category: Pierce the Veil
Genre: Band Fic, Comedy, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyonthebluemoon/pseuds/boyonthebluemoon
Summary: It's 1969, and the boys are scheduled to perform for the first time at their local bowling alley. What could possibly go wrong?---Based on PTV's Floral & Fading music video: https://youtu.be/t8puVdocLLc





	Floral & Fading

**_D-d-d-darker now, kicked out and sleeping in your car, you rolled the window down, enough to dream and make-believe…”_**

* * *

 "That's it, stop it! Pierce...whatever, you're outta here! Go on, we're closed! Everybody out! You're wrecking the place!"

The harsh reprimand of the bowling alley owner rang out, exasperated and palpably angry, and Jaime could very much tell why.  
  
Standing in the carnage of musical instruments and debris of bowling equipment alike, with their band sign hanging off on one corner with half already in shards on the floor; Jaime held splintered parts of what used to be a bass guitar as he overlooked a rowdy crowd that had been shoving and pushing at each other the entire time. He could see that the owner's rage towards the band was easily understandable.  
  
Jaime wasn't sure how Pierce the Veil was allotted to perform here in the first place, considering that their post-hardcore music wasn't really the appropriate ambiance for a bowling alley, and they were also forced to wear such weird clothes (Mike laughed at his older brother's atrocious green floral shirt that Vic fished out of his dad's closet for ten minutes straight), and the owner didn't even know what the hell their band name was ( _"He announced it with the enthusiasm of a vendor selling tacos in a deserted Mexican place under the high heat of the summer sun"_ , Jaime observed.  _"Oh great, now I want tacos",_  another voice inside his head complained), but all he knew for certain was that this was quite  **_unexpected_ ** .  
  
_"For a bunch of people living in '69, these guys sure do party hard."_  Jaime observed, uttering a low whistle as he surveyed the wreckage of the chaotic room.  
  
Not only had he and his bandmates completely trashed the place, they also managed to influence the people to join in with it as well. What once was a group of peaceful weekend bowling players had turned into youth-crazy moshers that threw articles of intimate clothing, started crowdsurfing and mosh pits, nearly ripped the band members apart (two of them tore out their drummer's sleeves,  _"but,"_  Jaime internally snickered,  _"with Mike's big guns, who freakin' wouldn't?"_ ), poured juice punch on each other (Jaime could see a girl smiling at them wryly without a care of the sticky beverage that dripped and coloured her hair a vivid blue), pulled the fire alarms and lit up their lighters inside the place, and ultimately ( _"and most importantly"_ , Jaime noted), they enjoyed and allowed themselves to lose control to their music.  
  
_"So all in all, not a bad gig."_  Jaime concluded with a satisfied grin. He looked over to Vic, Mike, and Tony, all exhausted, sweaty, and holding destroyed instruments alike, but also with the same excited smiles lighted up on their faces.  
  
Celebratory high fives were passed around the band members, but before Jaime could give one to Tony, the owner's stern face emerged in front of them, his nostrils flared and his voluminous belly rising up and down steadily, smoke appearing to come out of his ears as he startled the out of their gregarious reverie.  
  
"You damn brats, why are you still happy about wrecking this place?! I regret ever knowin' your name. Now you boys better get out of here before I get you a damn good whacking to and slam your sorry little asses in jail!" The owner threatened, waving at them the last remaining microphone stand that was still standing and almost tripping on its wires in the process.  
  
"Sooooo...does this mean we don't get paid?" Vic asked innocently, a cute charming smile on his face and doe eyes wide and sparkly, every word in his question dripping with sass. Behind him, Jaime chuckled audibly, Tony grinned so wide it seemed the corners of his lips would split open, and Mike covered his mouth with one heavily-tattooed hand to stifle his laughter.  
  
The owner only glared at them with sheer hatred and shoved them all out of his way, causing a little domino effect that made the entire band topple over.  
  
Unfortunately, he also tripped on the microphone stand yet again and exploded in a tirade of various colourful profanities, most likely endowing the worst curses known to man and monsters upon the Mexicans. He threateningly shook his meaty fist at the band in finality, as he walked away and grabbed a broom to commence cleaning up the mess that they made.  
  
"Great gig. Great time. Great job, guys." Mike praised his fellow band members as they packed up and salvaged what little they can from their smashed equipment,—but not before he added a grim "We still need money to buy new instruments though, and since Vic here killed off any chance of us getting paid, well..."  
  
"Thank you Mike, that reeeaaally boosted our morale." Tony replied with a laugh.  
  
Vic pretended to be hurt as he indignantly glared at his younger brother. "We weren't getting paid anyways, Mikey. It didn't hurt to ask."  
  
"Hey, hey, I'm just kidding bro. Hell, I don't blame you anyways. I've always wanted to wreck the living shit out of my drums! I mean, who doesn't? It's the adrenaline, man, it gets you. This was awesome, you guys. P-T-V!" Mike ranted on happily, and they all cheered out enthusiastically in reply.  
  
"Well, I take it that's a wrap?" Vic quipped with a smirk. He was answered with an affirming chorus of "Oh yeah", "Guess so", and from Jaime, accompanied with an audibly rumbling stomach, "Anyone else also craving tacos right now?"  
  
Jaime's out-of-place remark and hunger pangs gave Vic an idea for a fun little prank. He acted all excited, suddenly pointed out to a random corner, and shouted "Hey look Jaime, a taco stand giving away food for free!"  
  
"Where?!" As Jaime's head frantically whipped to face where Vic was pointing, Vic glanced furtively at Tony and made silent finger motions, signaling for him to trip up Jaime. Tony understood at once, and he quietly crouched behind Jaime and positioned himself by his feet, waiting for the right moment.  
  
"Oh, you know, it's just there Hime, if you'd just, like, I don't know, back up a little, maybe you'd see clearer or something, y'know..." Mike improvised, buying for time. Vic facepalmed behind Jaime's back and mouthed "that didn't make sense, bro." to him.  
  
But despite Mike's lame assurances, Jaime still obediently obliged with his instructions and ambled a step backward. His legs instantly caught on the crouching turtle behind him, and he began to topple backfirst, arms thrashing about wildly as he tried to break his fall.  
  
"Gotcha again, Jaime!" Vic said triumphantly, earning him victorious high fives and rounds of raucous laughter from Mike and Tony.  
  
But due to unfortunate circumstances, Jaime's head accidentally contacted a nearby bowling ball (ironically, it was the yellow one that he tossed at one of Mike's drums earlier which nearly hit Tony) and he heard a sickening crack resound from his skull. Vic, Tony, and Mike's laughs instantly dissipated and they immediately rushed to his side.  
  
Jaime felt himself losing consciousness quickly, his vision blurring and fading as he saw his friends' concerned faces looming over him. The last thing he saw was Vic frantically waving a hand to his face and calling out his name.  
  
"Jaime? Jaime???  _Jaaaaiiimmeeeeee..._ "  
  
\---  
  
Jaime jolted awake at the sound of familiar singing invading his ears. His drowsy eyes fluttered open and he found himself curled up in a couch, his bass guitar cuddled up next to him, a fan-gifted monkey pillow strewn on his stomach, and an abandoned notebook lying facedown by his limply-hanging fingertips.  
  
The rest of the band was simply chilling out in the same room as him. Mike lounged next to him as he clutched a coffee mug in one hand and twirled a drumstick in the other, Vic stared at his illegible scribbles with a pensive visage and a badly-chewed pen stuck between his teeth, making little vocal warm-ups with their names (at the moment, he was singing out "Hayyymeeyyy skunnkkk"), and Tony was softly strumming notes at random on a battered acoustic guitar.  
  
Getting out from his initial stupor, Jaime suddenly remembered his dream and his hand immediately shot up to his hair, as if to feel the phantom of a nightmarish afro that never was.  
  
Thankfully for the bassist, he felt only the usual soft spikes of his hedgehog hair.

Sighing in relief, Jaime rubbed his bleary eyes and immediately began examining the appearances of his fellow bandmates' hairstyles with mingled scepticism and doubt. Watching this strange event unfold, the trio's questioning stares immediately pierced (pun very much intended) through the scrutinising Jaime, but it was Vic who asked the question first.  
  
"You okay there, Hime?" he said, momentarily ceasing with his playful vocal warm-ups, and his inquiry was slightly garbled by the writing instrument clamped in his mouth.  
  
"Dude, I just had the weirdest dream..." Jaime started.  
  
Mike snorted bemusedly into his mug at Jaime's revelation, spinning the drumstick more furiously before throwing it in the air. "Expect Jaime to be so cliché."  
  
Tony glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and retorted, "And expect you to be the one breaking the fourth wall."  
  
Mike stuck out his tongue at Tony in reply and he failed to catch the drumstick, the wooden stick clattering noisily on the floor.  
  
But Jaime seemed not to hear their bickering as he squinted at Mike's short hair that was hidden under a black beanie, analysed Tony's expertly-messed hair and Key Street cap lying by his side, and finally settled to peering at Vic's long flowing hair, concentrating on it as if it was an art exhibit.  
  
Vic stared back quizzically at Jaime's inexplicable gaping. "Why are you looking at me like that? Something wrong with my hair? Is my hat not on straight? Or do you just not like my hat? Again?" He badgered in a concerned tone, running his hand throughout his head to check for anything weird.  
  
Jaime said nothing to clear things out as he slowly reached out to feel for Vic's hair. Mike took a sip of his drink absentmindedly and flipped his drumstick as he watched blankly, engrossed by the scene, and Tony had an exasperated expression that sighed out a silent "Oh, Jaime, here we go again."  
  
Jaime grabbed one end of Vic's hair and started tugging at it, testing for its legitimacy.  
  
"Ow! Jaime! What the hell?" Vic exclaimed, slapping Jaime's hand away. By coincidence, the distracted Tony hit a sour note on the guitar which made a sound that added for comedic effect.  
  
"Your hair...it's normal." Jaime lamely replied.  
  
Vic squinted in suspicion as he ran his fingers over his locks to fix his hair. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"  
  
Jaime closed his eyes and nodded in alleviated affirmation. "Oh it's good dude. It's good. It's just, well, just that dream..."  
  
"Well, what dream? Don't keep us in suspense, Hime-time." Vic prompted eagerly, setting down his abused pen and rumpled notebook on the desk and dragging his chair closer to Jaime. Mike and Tony set down the instruments they were holding and leaned closer to listen in as well.  
  
Jaime sighed extravagantly once again before he began to narrate. "It was like...we were having a concert in a frigging bowling alley...you had short hair and a stupid green shirt...Mike was wearing this nerdy-ass sweater and vest, I don't know what it was...and then suddenly Tony was crowdsurfing on a bunch of weirdly-dressed people...and I had a cotton ball for a hair...it was sick though, we smashed our instruments in the end, and oh, I nearly hit Tony with a bowling ball!"  
  
Tony glared at Jaime in mock disdain. "Something you wanna say to me, Jaime?"  
  
"And me!" Mike put in indignantly. "Did you just call my clothes nerdy?"  
  
"You tripped me up and made me smash my skull on a bowling ball, Tony, so I'd say we're pretty much even. And Mike, Vic was wearing a long-sleeved green floral pattern shirt and ironed beige pants and old-man hard shoes, and he had short hair that looked like it was shaped out of clay, so there." Jaime explained in a flat tone to both offended parties, not missing a beat.  
  
Tony simply made a 'seems legit' face and nodded. "Touché, Preciado."  
  
Mike, on the other hand, stared at his older brother for a couple seconds, as if picturing Vic in the horrible clothes Jaime described, but his should-be bellowing laugh was reduced to a strained snort as Vic glared back at him venomously with a look that said "Don't you even dare Michael."  
  
Jaime carried on with his story gracelessly as he fumbled for the words, unable to describe the dream properly. "Anyways, it was just—I don't know, but it was like...a time travel or something...I don't know man...it was 1969!" He finally declared.  
  
Mike couldn't hold in his laughter anymore at the final part and he began to double over laughing, the strained wheeze escaping his throat like a squeaky balloon quickly losing air.  
  
"Aw dude, did you just marathon Back To The Future...again?" Vic sympathetically apprehended with a little shake of his head. "Look, I know you wanna be the next Mexican Marty McFly, and we support that dream of yours, even if you don't look too good in bodywarmers, but...that's just askin' for it."  
  
His tuts of disappointment made Tony crack up, and Vic finally dropped his stern parent act and also joined in with the mirth.  
  
"But it was! I swear! 1969! A lady! Threw her bra at me!" Jaime punctuated pleadingly, his voice drowned out by the chaos of their laughter.  
  
His hysterical bandmates only laughed even harder at the bra throwing part, and Vic had to jump out of his seat and forcefully whack his younger brother in the back because he promptly choked on his drink, as the slapstick-looking act made Tony's smile grow impossibly wider.  
  
"Yeah right, like that would ever happen. Keep on dreaming, Jaime." Vic said flatly with a deadpan expression. Jaime finally stopped sulking and succumbed to the contagious hilarity and sheer ludicrousness of it all, dimples popping up as his laugh echoed the loudest inside the room.  
  
After everyone had calmed down and managed to catch their breath, the place was filled with silent contentment and lingering traces of entertained expressions on their faces.  
  
Mike headed over to the kitchen to place his mug in the sink, but accidentally brought the drumstick with the mug instead of the spoon; which made for a very interesting story later on at band practice when he accidentally ripped the skin off his snare drum with the metal utensil. Tony returned to fiddling with his guitar as he quietly played Dammit by Blink-182, and Vic held his pen and paper once again, but before he turned away to continue writing, he said softly to Jaime, this time with an earnest smile.  
  
_"Keep on dreaming, Jaime."_

* * *

**_"Our lights knocked out, turned upside-down, I'm just a stupid motherfucker, can't figure it out."_ **

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first bandfic I've ever written from about two years ago, and it's heavily edited in an attempt to make it less trash than it originally was. Well...I tried, guys. I tried a lot. RIP my last two braincells.


End file.
